


Something

by consultingcriminal



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Ah the frustrations, Anal, Angst and Feels, Based on the song 'Something' by The Beatles because I fucking love them, Caretaker John, Eventual Smut, Longing, Lust, M/M, Student!Sherlock, Teacher!John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4892278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingcriminal/pseuds/consultingcriminal





	1. Introductions

Dr. Watson was a sight to behold around Dartmoor Boarding School. He was new, fresh, unlike the other teachers at the school. While the other teachers, or the majority of them, were old and greying, Dr. Watson was young and brilliantly handsome. 

His hair was a dirty blonde colour which complemented his light tanned skin. If you looked at him closely - as many students at Dartmoor chose to do - you would see that his eyes seemed to change colour, from one extreme to another. One day they'd be a light brown, another day they'd be an ocean blue. The girls at the school often gushed about the way his eyes changed colour, thinking themselves to be superiorly admirable in their observations, but Sherlock Holmes saw more than all of them combined. 

Sherlock had been sitting in his class with Irene Adler when Dr. Watson made his entry. For a man with a doctorate, Sherlock thought it very strange for him to become a school Biology teacher. That was the first thing that fascinated Sherlock. 

Sherlock saw as Dr. Watson entered, based upon his uneven tan and the way he held himself, that he was a military man. His slight limp and cane suggested that he was wounded in battle, and given the former observations, uneven tan and injury, it had to be in a country of relatively high level of danger or dispute, so Afghanistan or Iraq. 

Dr. Watson wrote his name on the whiteboard as Sherlock hummed, internally musing over his findings. He could understand why the teacher would choose such a mundane job. Coming back from deployment, you'd want to settle back in, stop feeling the need to check over your shoulder every two seconds. Also, there was the fact that the man had a modern phone with an engraving on the back. 

_To Harry,_

_Love Clara xxx_

It wasn't the teacher's phone originally, Sherlock knew that immediately. The information sheet that Sherlock had been given had said Biology teacher: Dr. J. Watson. And the engraving most certainly did not say 'Jarry.' 

"Doctor John Watson, just returned from military intervention overseas," Irene whispered to Sherlock as Dr. Watson made an introduction. "His little sister's starting to work here too, from what I hear." 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his friend, who he'd rather consider to be his acquaintance. "Let me guess, you know someone?" 

"I know what she likes," Irene winked. "People will tell you anything if you know how to work them properly, Sherlock." 

"Yes, thank you for that information," Sherlock replied dismissively, keeping his gaze locked upon the new teacher, who was already proving to be interesting. 

Dr. Watson looked around the class, and his gaze swept over the curly-haired boy in the front. The boy in front of the teacher's hair fell in impeccable curls which complemented his porcelain skin and piercing, indistinguishable-coloured eyes. The boy's appearance screamed an air of wonder and mystery, not to mention he was the epitome of beauty, so much so that the doctor could only assume he was looking at Sherlock Holmes, the boy who caused all the issues within the school. 

"Hello," the teacher began, licking his lips in his characteristic way. He continued to look at the boy, and the girl beside him grinned at the man in a devilish sort of way. "What's your name?" 

"Sherlock," the curly haired boy replied with a voice surprisingly deep. "Sherlock Holmes." 

"Ah, as I thought. Can I expect you to be well behaved for me, Mr. Holmes? I hear you've a reputation around the school which is a bit not good." 

The class laughed, but John hadn't intended on being funny. He wanted to establish a mutual respect between himself and the young man, who he had been told was 'too intelligent for the school, yet too young to leave - God help us.' 

"I wouldn't accept any promises he makes you, Sir," said the girl beside him as she put an arm around his shoulders. Sherlock shot her a look, challenging her to say anything least she wanted to be embarrassed when the doctor's sister started working at the school. Sherlock knew that if Irene was already interested in the male teacher, she could only be hoping - or knowing - that his sister was just as attractive, if not more so. "This one works for himself and himself alone." 

The doctor raised his eyebrows at the girl. "Oh really? And my I ask, who are you?" 

"Irene Adler, Sir." 

"Alright, well, thank you for that, Ms. Adler. I'm sure Mr. Holmes and myself will be able to form some sort of working relationship over our time together." 

The new teacher looked at Sherlock, and Sherlock looked back at him with an even gaze. John gulped as he looked away. This was going to be a rough year. 

Dr. Watson spent the lesson going over what he'd be teaching his students over the semester, and he noticed the way they all stared at him with an air of fascination. The girls gawked at him from their seats, and the boys all looked at him curiously, trying to suss out whether this guy was going to be any good or not. But Sherlock Holmes had already decided that he was very good indeed.


	2. Phonecalls

_Something in the way he moves,  
Attracts me like no other lover. __  
_

"So," Harry began from the other side of the phone. John sighed, knowing the inevitable question that was to come, one that he wasn't sure how to answer. "How was the first day? What do I have to look forward to?" 

"It was good. Students are pretty nice on the whole. I have the worst behaved student in the school in my class, though." 

Harry laughed. "Blimey. Hope I don't have them in my class then. What's their name?" 

"Sherlock Holmes," John replied, unable to stop the small smile from spreading across his face. "He's alright though. Just misunderstood, I think. I reckon all he needs is a bit of guidance, a bit of help, and he'll be right as rain." 

"Doctor Watson, saving people yet again. When are you going to save yourself, Johnny? You've just gotten back from Afghanistan. You were shot. You're working at this school to bore yourself for a while. Redevelop the morals you once had. Take a break from saving people, John." 

John sighed again, though this time tiredly. He rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "I know, Harry. I can't help it though. All I've ever wanted to do is help people." 

"And you can, once you've readjusted to civilian life. Alright?" 

Making no promises to his sister, John changed the subject. "There's a student here that you'd like. Her name's Irene Adler. She's really rather pretty, but apparently she tries to seduce all the teachers." 

"All women, especially students, are off limits to me right now, Johnny boy. I'm still getting over Clara, you know." 

"You divorced her because you didn't love her anymore," John pointed out. 

Harry sighed. "One day you'll know what it's like, John. One day." 

"Maybe. Anyway, I better go. Gotta plan tomorrow's lesson and all. You know how it is." 

"Alright, John. I'll see you on Friday when I get there. Make sure the flat's tidy for when I arrive, you know I hate a mess." 

"Will do. See you then." 

The line went dead, and with yet another sigh, John put his phone down. Harry was right. He needed to stop trying to save people, and save himself instead. He needed to help people grow instead. That's what Harry said to him. 

Since their parents died, Harry had always given John guidance, even when she didn't know what she was talking about either. 

When John arrived back from Afghanistan, injured and broken, Harry had suggested he make the change. Harry was a teacher at a public school in London, but when she saw two openings for a prestigious boarding school in Dartmoor, she suggested to John that it could be good to go for the jobs together. By absolute chance, they were openings for Biology classes and English classes. Harry taught English in London, and John was a doctor. It seemed the planets were lining up for the two of them. Really, Sherlock Holmes had just pissed off those two particular teachers to the extent that they both upped and left, handing in their resignations, effective immediately. John stood up with a sigh and grabbed his cane. It was seven at night, and he decided since he'd nothing better to do, he'd go into the school's library to look at books he could use in reference to his classes. John Watson never liked to sit around. He pulled on his coat and slipped his phone into his pocket. Locking the door to his flat behind him, he began walking to the school. The walk was short; he and Harry had chosen the flat based on its accessibility to the school. Not only that, but the place was nice. The rooms were of a decent size, as was the living room. Only the kitchen and bathroom were small in size. 

Looking up, John saw the stars already beginning to appear. That was what he liked about Dartmoor, you could inhale the fresh air and see a million stars twinkling in the crisp night's sky. It reminded him of Afghanistan in that way. The only time he'd find a moment of peace was when he was looking at the sky, realising as though for the first time, that he was only a tiny being floating on a spherical rock through space. There was more to life, to the world, to the entire existence of everything, than what he knew - even as a well educated man. He could look at those stars - which kept their peace and safety nestled in the innermost corners of space - and know he too was safe. 

The doctor-now-teacher continued his walk to the school, and smiled as he looked up at the brick gates, and the big metal lettering of 'Dartmoor Boarding School,' which was lit up by small lights on the ground. He could still hear the chatter of voices as they made their way back to their dorm rooms, the shouts and howls of laughter which sounded almost intimidating. School was nothing like Afghanistan, but it sure was, in its own way, a battlefield. It was scary and long and probably the students felt pain in a different way to soldiers. John wanted to teach to change that. If he was to teach, he was to help those students love school, and love the opportunities. Sherlock Holmes was the first one he was going to work on. As John saw it, as he'd heard, if he could help Sherlock Holmes, he could help anyone. 

Sherlock watched the doctor from behind a tree as he walked into the school, his gaze upwards towards the sky, hands in his pockets. He didn't have his cane, and he didn't have his limp. Must be psychosomatic then. He wasn't thinking when he left, and so he easily forgot about his cane. Sherlock smiled to himself. Dr. Watson was very interesting indeed. 

He continued to hide behind the tree as the new teacher passed by, and once Dr. Watson was nearing the school building, Sherlock began to follow. The student knew exactly where the teacher was going, and so didn't feel any particular need to follow closely. If he had, he probably wouldn't have had Irene running over to him. 

"I thought you were studying for a test," Irene said. 

"And yet, here I am." 

"Yes, I thought it sounded awfully odd. You, studying? No way, I thought. Following Dr. Watson, are you?" 

"No." 

"Yes, you are. Come on, let's catch up to him." 

Irene grabbed her friend's arm and tried to drag him along behind her, but Sherlock stood with his heels planted on the ground. "Irene, no." 

"C'mon, Sherlock. Why not?" 

"Because I don't want him to know that I'm following him." 

"Why?" 

"Why?! It's alright for you, Irene, you don't need to worry about looking like a creep in front of that man. You'll probably end up going after his sister, anyway." 

"True," Irene admitted shamelessly. "But still, come on." 

Sherlock allowed the girl to drag him through the school and finally let him go when they made it to the library. Irene let go of Sherlock and let him walk in first. He saw the doctor straight away, sitting by himself at a table, reading books on anatomy. A smattering of girls nearby watched him, giggling amongst themselves. Sherlock could see why - the man was utterly gorgeous. 

His dirty blonde hair fell forward into his face, and his shirt tightened around his body as he leaned over the book he was presently reading. His eyebrows pinched together slightly as he read, and Sherlock couldn't help but think about how adorable it made him look. It wasn't until Sherlock stopped thinking about his choice of words that he saw Irene sliding into the seat opposite the new teacher. 

He wanted to go grab her, pull her away and threaten to ruin her life. But it was too late, the teacher had lifted his gaze, and was smiling at her in a friendly manner. "Hello, Ms. Adler." 

"Hi, Dr. Watson." 

"Ah, please, Mr. Watson will do just fine." 

Irene laughed a little too hard. "Of course, Sir." She leaned forward in her seat, across the table some. "What're you reading?" 

"Just some Biology books to use in the class," Mr. Watson replied, putting the book aside as he spoke to the teenage girl. From his distance, Sherlock almost admired the politeness of the man, despite how young he was, how battered and broken he undoubtedly was from war. "It's nothing really interesting." 

"Nonsense," Irene said, flicking her wrist dismissively. "Sherlock over there loves those sorts of books." 

Irene and the new teacher both looked up to where Sherlock stood, and Irene shot him a look which said, in more or less words: _'get-your-fucking-arse-over-here-you-stupid-boy!' _Sherlock walked over to the two and smiled almost sheepishly.__

"Here, Sherlock. Sit down, don't be so bashful," Irene said. 

John looked between the two confusedly. He had assumed that Adler and Holmes had been an item, but now it was beginning to sound like she was his mother. Mirroring the teacher's thoughts, Sherlock responded. "Yes, Mum." 

Sherlock slid down next to Irene, directly opposite Mr. Watson. He looked at the cover of the book. "This one's pointless. Half the information's incorrect. If you're looking for stuff for the class, I suggest the Gibsons one." 

The teacher gaped at Sherlock - half because of the speed at which the boy spoke, and half because he was absolutely right. John had noticed that the majority of the information was inaccurate and outdated. 

"Brilliant," John said before he could think about it. 

"Pardon me?" Sherlock asked. 

"Brilliant, Mr. Holmes. You're brilliant." 

"See," Irene said as Sherlock felt a swell of pride in his chest. "I told you he liked the books." John and Sherlock both turned to look at the girl, and she quickly pardoned herself. "Sorry, I'm getting a phone call." She got up, feigned a sheepish look, and walked out. Her mumbling of 'Like a spectator at the feast,' didn't go amiss to Sherlock, either. 

There was only a moment of silence, which had no capability of being awkward, when Mr. Watson spoke again. "So, Sherlock," he began, and Sherlock didn't miss the fact that he was called by his first name either, "You're interested in Biology, are you?" 

Sherlock shrugged. "It helps with my experiments. Chemistry is more or less my favourite of the sciences." 

"Ouch, that stings," the teacher said. Sherlock was about to ask what he meant before Mr. Watson began laughing, and the student realised he was joking. Sherlock amused him with a crooked smile. 

"Still though, I have a fascination with anatomy. I don't really care for ecology and such, I just like knowing as much about animal and human bodies as is possible." 

"Do you want to be a doctor?" Mr. Watson seemed genuinely interested in Sherlock's answer, and that was something Sherlock had never seen before. No one had ever been interested in him before. 

"Again, no. Just a hobby thing." 

The teacher smiled fondly as he rested his head on his hands. "I suppose you know what you want to do though, don't you? There must be something that you like the sounds of, surely." 

"I want to be a Consulting Detective," Sherlock said. Mr. Watson was the first person Sherlock had told about his dream job. Sherlock had only met him that day, but something told Sherlock he needn't worry about Mr. Watson judging his choices. He seemed nice, reliable, and not as entirely idiotic as all the other teachers in the school. Nevertheless, Sherlock still felt slightly anxious about the response as the teacher thought for a moment. 

"Nope, I have to ask. What's a Consulting Detective?" 

"I made it up. When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they'll ask me for help." 

Again, the teacher thought about it, and then answered. "Well, from what I can tell, you're a bright young man, Sherlock. Even the teachers whom you've driven mad have said you're an absolute genius. If that's what you want to do, I've no doubt that you'll achieve your goals." 

Sherlock's heart pounded in his chest, and he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that." 

"Anytime, Mr. Holmes. I truly believe that." The two laughed for a moment, and John noticed Adler walking in. 

"He hasn't misbehaved has he, Sir?" Irene asked the teacher, pointing at her curly-haired friend. 

"Not at all. In fact, I think Mr. Holmes and I are going to get along just fine." 


	3. Old Friends

"How are your classes treating you so far, John?" The doctor's old friend, Mike Stamford, asked as he sat next to John in the Teacher's Lounge. 

"Good. Very good," John smiled as he thought about it. 

"I take it you haven't had Sherlock Holmes yet, then?" 

"Oh, I had him yesterday. I don't know why you all complain about him, he seems perfectly fine to me." 

"Just wait for it. He'll find you interesting for a while, then he'll see you as another teacher who gets turned off and thrown in a cupboard at the end of the day, and he'll be hellish as ever." 

Something about that stung John. The novelty of him would rub off eventually, and he'd be just as boring as every other teacher. That was basically what Mike had meant, and they both knew it. "I'm a soldier, I'm sure I can handle him," John said. 

Mike smiled at his friend cheerily. "I don't doubt it, John. Really, I don't. In fact, right now, you're probably the best thing for that boy. He needs someone to take a shining to. 

Judging by all the gossip about you from the female students, I'd say you're the best hope there." 

John forced his blush away as he sipped at his tea. "Hmm, not too sure about that one, Mike." 

Mike chuckled. "I guess time will tell." 

John wondered about it, wondered if he could control Sherlock Holmes. He was lovely to John. He told John his ambitions, and to John, that served to be very advantageous. 

The bell rang, indicating lunch was over. "Look, meet me at the pub for a drink or two tonight, OK?" Mike asked as he stood up, slapping John on the shoulder hard. 

"Text me the details, and I'll be there," John said with a chuckle as he also got up, feeling more like his very old self than ever before. 

John had Biology. With Sherlock Holmes. He smiled as he thought about the boy. There was no point in denying it, he was smitten with the boy already. It was a harmless, innocent liking of the beautiful, brilliant young man, and John knew nothing would ever come of it. He could admire Sherlock - his mind, his looks, his smile - and accept that yes, he may think the boy to be particularly wonderful, but that was it. Or so he told himself. 

John had already planned the day's lesson and incorporated in harder work for Sherlock to do. He was determined to prove to everyone else that Sherlock was a good student. Really, if anyone looked at the psychology of it, they'd see that John was really trying to avoid his own issues, and he so lost himself in the amazement of the being that was Sherlock Holmes. 

John went to his office to get the parts needed for the day's dissection and looked at the envelope and letter from his old fling, Mary Morstan. There was nothing there, at least, not anymore. Maybe once, they'd had a connection, but after Afghanistan, after James Sholto and injury and now Sherlock, there was no chance for his old flame with Mary to rekindle. Still, the former doctor knew it'd do him good to let off some steam, and so he kept the letter in its place. 

After collecting the materials needed, the new teacher got to his class and found a lot of the students already seated. Sherlock and Irene were already in their seats as well. The girl seemed to be saying something to the curly-haired lad, and he crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. Obviously he didn't like what he was hearing. John couldn't help but smile at the scene, there was something so incredibly different about Sherlock Holmes that John couldn't help but admire. Even being oh-so new to the school, the teacher had heard the gossip about Irene Adler, and from the sounds of it, any lad at the school would feel more than privileged to sit beside the girl in class, let alone be her friend. But then there was Sherlock Holmes, sitting beside the girl with an air of indifference, entirely unaffected by her presence. 

"Alright, class," John said, clapping his hands together as the rest of the students piled in to the class, taking their respective seats. "Today we're going to begin with a dissection. We have some pig eyes to work with, so it'll be fairly easy going. Copy down the notes on the board, and then we'll get started." 

The students quickly copied down the notes, eager to please their new, brutally handsome teacher, while Sherlock sighed. "I've done all this before." 

"I figured you would've, Mr. Holmes," John said, overhearing. "That's why I prepared something else for you. Come with me. You too, Ms. Adler. I can tell by your grades and the fact that you're friends with Mr. Holmes that you're more than able to assist Sherlock in this experiment." 

The two students got up and followed the new teacher out of the room. As they walked, Sherlock couldn't help but be impressed by Mr. Watson's swiftness. Already, he was taking charge of the class in a way the previous teacher had not - though that was most likely due to the fact that a very particular genius wasn't piping up every two seconds to correct something he said. That was another thing that Sherlock liked: the teacher was very well educated and experienced. He had to know all these things as a doctor, and he'd tried all theories and whatever he taught on the battlefield in Afghanistan. Further, judging by the teacher's posture, he was also sexually educated as well. That thought alone made Sherlock's chest tighten and stomach swirl with the conflicted emotions of anger and a deep pang of sorrow. The student couldn't place exactly what that emotion was called, but it was foreign and he hated it. 

The two followed Mr. Watson to his private office where the man collected small plastic bags with stuff inside. Irene screwed up her nose as she saw it. "What on Earth is that?!" 

The teacher raised an eyebrow and turned his amused gaze on Sherlock. "Mr. Holmes, do you know what this is?" 

"Pig skin samples. Easy." "Great. You're correct, just as I expected. Have you heard about the Jude Darwin case that's just opened?" 

"Yes, just named as the victim of a particularly gruesome murder case that's come to light. The killer attempted to incinerate Darwin's body using chemicals, though it was only partially successful." 

"Though not successful enough for the body to go unidentified," Irene said under her breath. "Obviously." 

"Obviously," Sherlock repeated in agreement, casting a curious look downward at his friend. 

"Good work. So I thought that since you're already far ahead of your time as far as my Biology class goes, I'd give you this experiment to try and identify the chemical they used. My old friend works at New Scotland Yard as a detective inspector, and this is something they're looking at working out. Could be a good entry into the business, since that's the way you're inclined." 

Sherlock's heart fluttered at the amount of thought the teacher had put into all this. He pursed his lips and nodded. "I understand. Where shall we get started?" 

"I booked you and Ms. Adler a lab, so you'll be able to conduct the experiments in there. Just finish up before the end of the lesson, and let me know if you have any conclusive results, or if you need help." 

"This is good of you," Irene said a bit too nicely. Both John and Sherlock picked up on the implication in her tone. 

The teacher chuckled nervously before scribbling down the room number of the free lab - which Sherlock already knew since he usually ditched Biology to go conduct experiments, though he didn't mention that to the teacher - and then excused himself to go back to the class where the Neanderthals (as Sherlock called them) waited to do their mundane pig eye dissections. 

Sherlock and Irene walked to the lab, and Irene bounced around like a lamb, rattling on about how they'd basically just been given a free lesson. Sherlock, as usual, zoned out of what his friend was saying, and began to think about Mr. Watson instead. Something in the way he moved attracted Sherlock in a way that no one else ever had. Well, no one had ever attracted him anyway. But Mr. Watson was something else altogether, as far as Sherlock was concerned. He still walked with his back straight despite his limp (and cane, which was back, much to Sherlock's dismay). He still held his head high and maintained eye contact. He was still a soldier, as Sherlock could see, and he would always apply what he learned during his service in Afghanistan into his real life. 

They got to the lab, and Sherlock set the samples down on one of the surfaces. Another bench was covered in bottles of chemicals, which Sherlock realised were put there for his disposal. On the desk reserved for teachers was a manila folder full of images and details about Jude Darwin's life and death. 

"He really went into a lot of effort for you, didn't he?" Irene said, clearly impressed. 

"He did indeed." 

Sherlock quickly looked over a picture of the body, and Irene stepped in close to look at it over his shoulder. "It's all a bit grim, don't you think?" 

"Grim is good. Look at this here, you see that mark? It was obviously caused by the chemical used. Half of those ones over there don't do it, so we can rule them out." The boy rubbed his hands together excitedly. 

"Don't you think you're enjoying this a bit too much?" Irene asked him as she stepped away to look at the chemicals. "I mean, someone died in order for you to get this information." 

Sherlock shrugged. "They're gone now, what's the point in caring? It's not going to bring them back to life, is it?" 

"Well... no. Still, it's a bit... Indecent, don't you think?" 

"I'm not concerned either way. Now, let's look at those chemicals." 

The class had just finished and John hadn't heard a word from Sherlock, nor had they returned back to the class. He got into his office and closed the door when he heard a voice from inside the room. "Found it." 

The teacher jumped and turned around to face Sherlock, who sat in John's chair. "Shit!" John cursed as he looked at the student. "You scared me." 

"Sorry," Sherlock said with a huff of laughter and a genuine smile. John could see how rare that was. "I found it though. The chemical used. It was this one. Hydrofluoric acid." 

The teacher grinned up at Sherlock, and Sherlock felt his heart jump. "You're extraordinary, Sherlock, you know that? Absolutely extraordinary." 

"Thank you, Sir," Sherlock all but breathed. "And thank you for letting me do that. No one's ever paid so much attention to my needs before." 

Something stirred in John's lower region at Sherlock's absent choice of words and he licked his lips. "It's no problem at all. I'd rather go out of my way to help as opposed to leaving you bored and annoyed in my class." As happened with John at Sherlock's words, Sherlock felt much the same when the teacher winked at him. 

There was a moment of tension in the room as the two looked at each other. John knew he really shouldn't give in to temptations such as Sherlock Holmes, but the glint in the boy's eyes made it awfully difficult. Sherlock, obviously enough, couldn't care less about whether it was right or wrong to try it on with his teacher, especially when he saw the beginnings of an erection tenting at the teacher's crotch. 

The younger stepped in slightly, and the teacher lifted his head to keep his eyes locked on Sherlock. Something had undeniably changed in the air. It had grown thicker, tightening around the two until neither of them could breathe. Sherlock reached up and gently ran his knuckles across the teacher's cheeks, and John looked away, though didn't move. 

The former army doctor's heart pounded in his chest at his student's touch, but he couldn't bring himself to move away. He knew it was wrong. He barely even knew the boy, but looking at him, it was like he'd known him for years. And now they were in private, together, alone, and Sherlock too was sporting a small erection. Both of them were like schoolboys - but Sherlock really was. It was all too much. The suffocation, the lack of air, was no longer nice to John. He needed out. Quickly. 

"I should probably go and give this to Greg, he'll be wanting to know-" John said quickly, breaking away from Sherlock's magnetic allure. 

"Mr. Watson, I-" 

"No, no, it's fine," John said quickly, waving his hands in the air dismissively. "I just better tell him before my next class. Bye, Sherlock. I'll see you next lesson." 

The student watched as his teacher swiftly exited the room, leaving him alone in there. Sherlock looked around for a moment, lost as to what to do or how to handle his feelings or his erection - which he hadn't had since puberty. He decided to leave, go back to his dorm room and relieve himself of the nuisance that he had, and then something caught his attention on the teacher's desk. 

An envelope sat on top of Mr. Watson's computer keyboard and, written in a woman's spirally scrawl, read _'John Watson. _' Sherlock picked it up and looked it over. The teacher had already read the letter at least three times, which showed he was -at least relatively - interested in the woman who sent it. The student crinkled up his nose as he pulled out the piece of paper inside the envelope and read.__

_John, I so enjoyed catching up the other night. I hope we can do it again sometime soon, and until you fix your phone, I will resort to sending you handwritten letters! All my love, Mary xxx_

Sherlock knew there was nothing wrong with the teacher's phone, he would've deduced something if there was, but surely this 'catch up' was more than a coffee date, especially if this Mary used three kisses at the end of her letter. Old friend then, definitely, but how far did the title of 'friend' go? 

Sherlock quickly put the letter back into the envelope and left it where he found it, though of course after acknowledging the address on the front. His exit was then almost as swift as the teacher's before him, and the door slammed behind him, shaking the school's old foundations. 

John got to New Scotland Yard at long last and paid the cabbie - the huge sum that it was having to go all the way into London - as he got out before making his way into the building. Greg, his old friend, was already waiting for him. "That boy cracked it then, did he?" Greg asked with his attractive grin as he smacked John on the back. 

"He sure did. I told you he was something else." Emotion must've crept into John's voice because before he knew it, Greg's tone had changed altogether. 

"You alright?" Greg asked him. "You seem almost... upset." 

John shook his head. "I'm fine, just... Teaching is hard." 

Greg chuckled. "I don't doubt it. Having someone so brilliant in your classes can't help either. An old friend of mine was like that too. He-" Greg trailed off and swallowed hard. Now really wasn't the time to talk about Mycroft Holmes. "Anyway, never mind." 

"You're right though, it is hard. I mean," John chuckled and shook his head. "If you saw him you'd feel this instant draw to him like... It's probably not best to talk about this to my policeman friend." 

Greg laughed. "I don't mind, the others might, but not me. Let's talk about it at the pub tomorrow night, shall we?" 

"Yeah," John said as he playfully slapped Greg on the back. "Sounds good to me."


	4. Roll Over Beethoven

Sherlock Holmes' mind was like a beehive. There were a million little things knocking about in his head, and he found it hard to ever silence it. And now, since Mr. Watson and the case of the envelope, it was like another beehive had been added, and now his mind was louder than ever. 

The moonlight shone through the open curtains of his room, and he tossed and turned in his bed. 

"Sherlock," Irene's voice came from the other bed, sounding annoyed beyond belief. Sherlock's older brother, Mycroft, had given him the luxury of his own room, and Irene came and went as she pleased, claiming she'd rather sleep in a room with the 'insufferable git' that was Sherlock as opposed to the 'insufferable snorer' that was her roommate. "I dare you to move. One more time. Do it, I dare you." 

"I can't sleep, alright?" 

"Why not?" 

"I'm just... thinking. You know I don't sleep well." 

"You're sleeping even worse tonight. Or rather, not at all. It's doing my head in." Sherlock looked at Irene through the darkness as she leaned upwards and rested on her side, one bent arm holding her tired head up. 

"Go on, Sherlock, spill the beans." 

"Mr. Watson has a female love interest," the curly haired teen sighed quickly. 

Irene snorted. "Is that it?" 

"What do you mean, 'is that it'?!" Sherlock demanded. "He has a love interest, Irene. And it's a female!" 

"Sherlock, you've really not thought about it, have you?" Irene asked with a laugh, as though he was stupid. "He's living with his sister. He's not in any serious sort of relationship. It's not like he's bringing a girl back to his flat every night to have a shag. If he's really seeing her, it's obviously not on a regular basis. It doesn't mean he's not interested in males. Don't worry about it." 

"I-I," Sherlock sighed, not sure how to say it. "I nearly kissed him today." 

Irene fell out of her bed. "You _what _?!"__

"I nearly kissed him and then he raced out the door. I was thinking it was maybe something good - considering other factors which you yourself could identify if you thought about it - and then I saw the thing from Mary and now I don't know." Irene got up and padded over to Sherlock's bed. "Roll over, Beethoven. I'm getting in." 

Sherlock moved over so his back was against the wall and rolled his eyes. Irene climbed in beside him, draping her arms around his waist, forcing her platonic affection upon him. "Why are you doing this?" Sherlock had to ask tiredly. 

"You really like him, don't you? You're already obsessed with him." 

"I'm not obsessed," Sherlock said defensively. 

"You are, Love," Irene said sympathetically, jabbing him in the ribs with her finger. "You smiled at him, speak to him nicely, almost kiss him as you say, and now you're losing sleep over him. Not only that, but you're losing your mind here." 

"You'll probably be the same when his sister arrives," Sherlock mumbled. 

"And you know what? I'm alright with that. Mr. Watson is bloody gorgeous. There's no point denying it. His sister will probably be just as hot, if not hotter. And I will swoon over her as you swoon over him. And that's cool." Sherlock rolled his eyes but couldn't help but huff out a laugh. "I'm just not used to this sort of thing." 

"Apparently it doesn't matter, if what you told me is true. That and the fact he was obviously hard over whatever else happened. Seriously, Sherlock. Just sleep on it. If it's meant to happen, it'll happen." 

"You're right," Sherlock said distractedly. "The universe is rarely so lazy as to allow coincidences." Irene pecked the boy on the cheek. "Now sleep, pretty darling, so I can do the same." 

John couldn't sleep either. All he could think about was the experience in his office earlier in the day. It shouldn't have happened like that. Hell, it shouldn't have happened at all. It was a bad idea to let such an attractive - almost magnetically so - young man get so close to him so quickly. It was a bad idea to let his interest, in more ways than one, show to the boy himself. But could John really be blamed for being attracted to such an alluring young man? Could he be blamed for favouring the boy above others because of his personality and relatively-unknown likeability? Because there was most certainly something there that was very likeable about the student. It was in the way that he smiled, although very rarely, that made John almost think he needed nothing more in the world than to see him do it again. Mary, his old fling, would be forgotten altogether despite how much she adored John, and the former army doctor would feel he'd never need anyone other than Sherlock again. And all that had happened within a few days. John was already whipped. 

As John walked into work the next morning, he wondered about what to do about his situation. He had to remain profession, he knew that much. Continue helping the young genius without getting too close. Harry was arriving that day anyway, and John hoped that his sister's presence would make him think about something other than the curly haired boy who'd already nestled himself into the teacher's mind. Undoubtedly Harry would begin swooning over Irene Adler once she met her too. 

John got to his class and saw Sherlock was already there, ready and waiting for the lesson to begin. John wasn't surprised that Sherlock would choose to come earlier than everyone else, but he couldn't help wonder why he'd come so early. There was still half an hour to go, and Irene wasn't even with him. 

They were together. Alone. In a relatively private setting for the moment. 

Sherlock didn't seem to notice the teacher came in, and John what as at a loss as to what to do. He licked his lips - Sherlock saw that out of the corner of his eye - and cleared his throat. He was nervous. "Morning," said the teacher. 

"Morning," Sherlock mumbled, not bothering to look up at him. 

_Oh, _John thought to himself. _So this is how it's going to be. _The teacher gave himself a nod, one that said: Alright, this is fine, we can handle this, and began preparing for the first class, trying to forget the alluring student's presence altogether.____

Sherlock watched discreetly as the teacher wrote the notes for the class on the board. Again, his cane was forgotten and Sherlock put that down to his own inner conflicts. The teacher never ceased to interest Sherlock, which made it harder for the younger man to get over his inclination towards him. They both knew there was something there that neither of them could deny - no matter how hard they were trying. 

Sherlock fidgeted as he watched the teacher. He remembered Irene's words from the night before. 'If it's meant to happen, it'll happen.' Sherlock had never had that line of thinking though. If something was supposed to happen, it was going to happen when he did something about it. He most certainly was not the sort of young man to sit back and watch the world pass him by - though in some contradictory way, that's all he ever did - but looking at Mr. Watson, so gloriously wonderful, he wondered if he should do something different. 

Sherlock's mind was buzzing. He wanted Mr. Watson. He knew that better than anything else. He wanted him like he'd never wanted anyone else, though in saying that, he never had wanted anyone else before. Mr. Watson was a first - in all aspects. Until Sherlock worked out what he wanted to do about the situation, he resorted to just playing things as they went. If he were to be honest and acknowledge his inner most thoughts, he'd find that he was basically just doing what Irene had suggested.


End file.
